


jet pack blues (baby come home)

by yslouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boarding School AU, Harry Styles - Freeform, High School AU, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Vienna, also after high school, also harry is kind of an asshole, and has piercings, but in a good way, harry is from hackney, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis is from kensington, louis is nice to everyone, so rich and poor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:37:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yslouis/pseuds/yslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry is sixteen and in love with louis, and then he's twenty and in love with louis.<br/>louis is eighteen and confused, and then he's twenty-two and still confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jet pack blues (baby come home)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first real fic i've tried to write so bear with me here. also, my german is horrendously terrible, but i've tried to but my extremely limited knowledge into use.

Harry catches a glance of himself in the mirror in the window of a shop and smiles at his reflection, trying to make himself feel better. God, he looks like a mess. His hair is still pulled back in the ponytail that he intended to sleep with and has a messy-disheveled kind of look to it. There are probably tear tracks on his face. God, he's a mess.

Louis just - Harry doesn't even know what happened. It doesn't really make sense and it definitely wasn't good, but Louis was smiling when he said it so Harry can pretend it was okay. To be honest, though, Louis was always smiling, ever since the day Harry met him. A smile could mean anything.

Harry doesn't want to think about it all; that's the whole reason he came to the mall at such an ungodly hour, so he tries with all his heart to focus on the mannequins and adverts of the shop windows. Harry doesn't have the money to buy anything, not after he moved in with Louis and had to pay rent as well as university fees, but the mall is his safe place. He doesn't have anywhere else to go.

The shopping traffic at the mall is sparse, but it makes sense, as it is nearly eleven at night. The only people milling about are most likely sad, lonely people like Harry or drunk groups of kids.

Harry can't go back to the flat yet, not after that. He thinks he overreacted, or at least that Louis thinks he overreacted. After all, they aren't an actual couple, so Harry doesn't know why he's so hung up on it. Not a couple.

"Not a couple", that's what Louis says. That's what he says to friends and family and anyone who mentions that him and Harry looks cute together. He says that to Harry all the time, between kisses, in the middles of sex, while making dinner. Harry doesn't even know what to call the two of them other than not a couple.

Really, Harry's the one who's wrong here. They aren't a couple. He shouldn't be hurt or feel rejected. Besides, Harry probably doesn't even mean it. He probably doesn't love Louis - he just doesn't want to be alone. Probably.

\----

Louis sits at home on the couch, the television playing the late late news. He doesn't really focus on it, though. He stares at the wall next to the telly, feeling unsure. He's always unsure.

-

Four years previous; September 2011.

-

Harry doesn't speak German. Not a word. He was under the impression that he wouldn't need to - after all, this is the Vienna International School. International. They told him that whatever German he would need would catch on soon enough. Even so, Harry reckons he should have made at least some effort to learn the basics, because he is now extremely confused, emotionally deflated, and a little sad on his first day of school.

His roommate, Emmerich, speaks some English, thank heavens. Emmerich is kind of a dick but Harry is a sarcastic, introvert asshole so it works out.

It was only a few days ago when Harry arrived in Vienna and the taxi driver dumped him and his suitcase at Vienna International, after making Harry pay what seemed like too much money for a fifteen minute ride. Harry had been immediately directed to his shared room with Emmerich by a lady who seemed so old that she could drop at any second. Harry was worried about being held liable if she bit the dust on the way. Thankfully, she hobbled on until the end.

When Harry opened the door to the dorm room, he was greeted by two small beds with white sheets, two worn out desks, two bulletin board hanging on the walls and one chubby blonde boy wearing jeans and a horrendous green sweater. The boy proceeded to look up and say "Are you my foreigner?", to which Harry responded "Well, what the hell do you think?". It was a magical start, if Harry does say so himself.

Emmerich first nosily sifted through all of Harry's possessions. Harry hadn't even remembered that he'd packed lube, and almost choked on nothing when Emmerich inspected it. But, all that Emmerich did was sniff it and tell him "You are gay and you want your asshole to smell like nail polish?", and then tossed the bottle aside to look through Harry's toiletries. Harry really did try to explain that it wasn't supposed to smell like nail polish (in a panicked and cracking voice) but Emmerich did not seem to want to listen, neither did he appear to give a single flying fuck. A man after Harry's heart.

After Emmerich was done with that, he decided to give Harry a school tour, with very animated and opinionated commentary. Harry felt like is wasn't completely unbiased. When they were walking past the chemistry lab, he told Harry about when someone last year added cum to a class project when the teacher wasn't looking (although Emmerich clearly wasn't learned in the English word for cum and instead referred to it as "penis fluid), and when they were in the auditorium he told Harry about the time a lead actor had a major boner in the middle of a production of Oliver. It was extremely entertaining and Harry only tripped once.

Emmerich was boisterous and loud nearly the entire way through the biased tour, except for near the end, when he and Harry crossed through the main courtyard and passed a group of older looking kids smoking something that definitely didn't smell like tobacco. Now, Harry's from a neighborhood in London called Hackney where the teachers most likely smoked pot in the staff room and it was more plausible than not that you would get mugged (or someone would attempt to mug you) on your way home from school, so a few kids smoking weed outside of the school didn't phase him. It kind of reminded him of home. Emmerich, on the other hand, was most likely from a rich and important family, like most people at Vienna International - it was an elite private school, after all. Harry could almost see Emmerich physically and mentally caving into himself, even more so when the kids pointedly stared right at them.

"Oh, fuck off." Harry sneers, and most of them go back to smoking, but not without rolling their eyes or muttering their own curses.

"And, em, so, eh, now we are back here!" Emmerich clears his throat as the pair of them arrive back at the boarding house for tenth grade students.

"I see." Harry said, still mildly amused by how flustered Emmerich had been. Feeling better than other people caused him great pleasure.

The preceding couple of days were spent by Harry trying to learn German online and Emmerich telling Harry how bad he was doing at German, but occasionally trying to help, which usually ended in Emmerich muttering angrily in rapid German that Harry was glad to be unable to understand. Schedules were handed out a day before the term started, and Harry was delighted to see that somehow he had been put in advanced English. His other classes were all advanced - after all, the only way that someone from Hackney would end up in Vienna International would either be with exceptional grades or with a gun and a balaclava. Harry was nearly devastated to see that he was in orchestra as his required arts subject. All that he ever did in orchestra was hit the girl in front of him with his trombone. Her name was Veronica and the rumor was that she once stabbed someone but that didn't stop her from being a terrible clarinet player so Harry needed to stab her with his trombone.

\---

At breakfast on the first day of school, Harry is sitting with Emmerich and his gang of friends who are all slightly less rude than Emmerich but still dickheads nevertheless. They're fascinated by Hackney, and although none of them are completely fluent in English, they listen to Harry's seemingly captivating stories of the riots in 2011 and street gangs and the little rundown apartment that Harry and his mother share. Harry got the most out joy of telling them that his mother is a prostitute, and the whole lot of them looking positively scandalized.

Besides that, breakfast at the private school is like nothing Harry had ever had the opportunity to enjoy. The dining hall is large with high ceilings and windows that reach up to the rafters and long polished wooden tables with matching chairs. The food, well, Harry knows that it tastes much better than his usual scrambled eggs that he makes in the microwave. At Vienna International, there are thick slices of ham and bacon and fried eggs and hash browns, as well as a juice bar and fresh pots of coffee put out every few minutes, as well as traditional bread rolls and cold cuts. Every morning, all year round.

Everything, it seems, is more luxurious than what Harry was previously used to. At the school in Hackney there were just a lot of guys in loose pants and loose sweaters with the hoods pulled over their faces and various unnecessary "I fucked ____" etched into the bathroom stall walls and classroom desks. Here, everyone is wearing the uniform navy blue blazer and black tie. The males all have pressed and ironed black dress pants, as well as shiny black Oxfords. The females all wear pleated black skirts and knee-high socks, along with black flat shoes.

Harry almost wishes he had friends back home to brag to.

As the bell rings signaling the beginning for first period, the collective sound of scraping chairs and groans (some all too sexual, in Harry's opinion) can be heard throughout the dining hall, Emmerich and his gang of misfits being no exception.

Emmerich's friends can only be described as weird. There's no way Harry can remember all of their names, but he knows that Joseph has Sasuke-esque black hair and dark eyes that seem to look into your soul, and Cristoph doesn't speak English or German but is kind of just there. Emmerich says he likes to write people's names on pieces of paper and then crumple them up.

Harry feels lucky that they're a bunch of rich, airhead idiots and that he isn't in a single class with any of them because while he's grateful that he's been accepted into a group, he just really genuinely doesn't like people up in his business, and Emmerich and Co.'s favorite activity seems to be getting up into people's business.

Harry arrives at his first class, maths, and walks straight into a person.

"Oomph." Harry says, sounding as intelligent as a piece of lettuce but that's all he can really manage when he's just ran into an attractive guy with blue eyes and a lip ring. His mind is screaming "Abort! Abort!" but his eyes ignore the warning and subtly drift to the stranger's crotch.

"Entschuldigung." The stranger says passively, looking at Harry as if he's waiting for a response. Harry's head snaps up (no, not the down-there one) and he can't seem to find any words.

"I don't really German." Harry says and then immediately wants to inhale a doorknob.

"I said sorry." The stranger laughs, in perfect English, before walking away.

And that was the perfect start to an advanced maths class, taught entirely in German.

Harry was actually quite proud of the little bit of German that he's taught himself over only two days, but apparently he hadn't taken into account the speed at which Austrian people seemed to speak. (Which, by the way, is faster than a fourteen year old boy cums.) He couldn't even decipher when one word ended and another one began, only hearing a lot of "cghhhhhh" and "euohhhhh". The fact that he had sat himself next to the good-looking stranger guy with a lip ring who actually looked a whole lot older than sixteen didn't help Harry's effort to pay attention to the lesson.

At the end of the hour-and-a-half long lesson, Harry feels half dead and extremely confused and his bladder is exhausted but he didn't know how to ask to go to the bathroom.

Just as he's walking out of the door, he felt someone tap his shoulder.

"What?" Harry spins around, realizing that he's also in a very irritable mood. Bladder exhaustion and not being able to understand a single fucking thing in a lesson does that.

"I just - you're English, aren't you?" It's the stranger with blue eyes and a lip ring and Harry wants to die right now.

"Yeah, what about it?" Harry sighs, apparently activating the bored-but-stone-cold tactic he used to employ on anyone who looked particularity sketchy in Hackney.

"Well, I mean, so am I. But you don't seem to know German, so I was just wondering if you wanted some -"

"Wait," Harry cuts him off, "aren't you one of those kids who was smoking who-knows-what in the courtyard?"

"It was weed, thanks. If you don't want help, just say so." The stranger, like everyone else who makes any effort to talk to Harry, seems completely done with Harry.

"Yeah, I need help with it. But not from you." Harry can't decide if he wants to fuck or be fucked by this guy so apparently his mouth just decided to be rude. Good. Great. Fantastic. He should buy a dildo.

"All right, but my offer's still there if you change your mind. I'm Louis." The stranger rolls his eyes, confirming that he is in fact completely done with Harry, and then walks past him into the hallway.

Harry makes his way to his second class, English language. He's actually excited for this.

The classroom setting is something like Harry's own first year school classroom, with simple English words and grammar reminders on colourful posters adorning the walls of the room. "Mister Seth" is written across the whiteboard in blue ink. There is a man sitting at a large desk in front of the board, and Harry thinks that it's safe to assume that this is Mr. Seth.

Harry finds himself a seat near the back of the room, as per usual. As far as he can see, most people have sat themselves near the back, but as he's one of the first ones in class, he gets lucky (sadly, not in a sexual way) and steals a desk in the last row. All is well.

Until the class formally begins, that is.

Harry did not seem to realize that learning English required translating things from German to English.

Even more lost than he was in math class, Harry proceeded to mentally die.

\---

The night after the first day of classes, Harry is laying in bed, trying to do his math homework. It wasn't too difficult, considering that numbers are generally universal, but the fact that he understood absolutely none of the lesson was putting a bit of a damper on his ability.

Emmerich is laying on his bed opposite Harry's, making a show of loudly flipping the pages in his pornographic magazine, clearly hoping to somehow impress Harry with it. Emmerich is just generally being very violently heterosexual, and it was making Harry more uncomfortable than impressed, due to Emmerich's clear hard on.

Harry looks out the window at the sky, which is an unpleasant sort of greyish blue. It reminds him of England. Unexpectedly, he feels a little sad, almost wishing he were somewhere familiar, even though Hackney was a complete dump and Harry would gladly bulldoze the whole district without batting an eye.

"I go shower now." Emmerich says loudly, throwing his magazine on the ground before sauntering over to the door to their room.

"Okay." Harry watches him as he leaves, and then picks up the magazine on the floor and throws in back on Emmerich's bed so that 34G Mathilda won't be staring up at him the whole while.

Ten minutes later, Emmerich is still in the shower, surely wanking, and Harry is done his math. He's sure that Emmerich won't be back any time soon, although he must admit he's a little impressed with Emmerich's endurance, so he changes out of his uniform and into jeans and a t-shirt.

Harry feels extremely tired, and he doesn't reckon it's just jet-lag. He kind of wants to do something, but then again, kind of not. So, he decides to go take a walk and hopes that it'll rain on him because that would be a perfect cinematic sad-teenager montage.

As he padded down the carpeted hallway, he wondered how his mum was doing. Harry always supposed that she wasn't in her right mind, especially since her former boyfriend also known as Harry's father also known as the drug dealer of Lower Clampton Road, was murdered via their previous downstairs neighbor, but she'd been getting worse and more distant for the last little while.

It had been more like Harry taking care of her than she him, with Harry making meals and reminding her to go grocery shopping, or more often doing it himself. She was always out at night, and while Harry understood that it was her job, he always got scared for her, or wonder if she'd come home with a new bruise.

She hadn't been a terrible mother, really. She'd done all the proper stuff when Harry was littler, taking him to the zoo once a summer and getting him a hamster which he'd called Hamster and taken care of extremely poorly, trying to get him into sports. While Harry's dad was always kind of just there, doing whatever a drug dealer does and then coming home late and sleeping. He was shot right outside their building - which was a tattoo shop with two flats above it - the day Harry turned six.

Harry can't really feel sorry for himself, or so he supposes. He'd always had excellent grades and a mother who still loved him as she slowly spiraled into insanity, and now he's ended up here at Vienna International, bound to get into university and grad school. He can take care of himself.

But still, Harry think as he pushes open the door to the boarding building and walks out, it'd be great to have a boyfriend. As much as Harry genuinely hates people, he's sixteen and never kissed anyone, and sixteen year old boys tend to have high sex drives and it's a real shame that Emmerich's not up for -

No. Harry needs to stop himself.

It starts raining about five minutes into Harry's walk. He continues on the path that leads to the school as the raindrops get fatter and quicker, soon matting his curly hair to his forehead.

As he gets closer to the school - a grand red brick building surrounded by trees - , Harry can see a group of people sitting outside on the sheltered front steps. It's the people who were smoking the other day - among them, of course, is Louis. Today, though, they aren't smoking anything. They appear to be just sitting and talking, all bunched up very cosy. Harry gets even closer and sees the details of the people - most of them have dyed black hair - any other colour is strictly prohibited by the school's dress code - and a face piercing like Louis' lip ring. Almost all of them are wearing eyeliner and they look right intimidating, but as Harry gets even nearer, he can see that they're playing a card game and laughing. Harry stops about fifty meters away from the lot of them and watches as the rain starts pelting even harder, soaking Harry's t-shirt.

It's almost as if things are happening in slow motion as Harry observes the scene, crossing his arms over his chest. Louis look up and spots Harry, cocking his eyebrows and Harry can't tell from where he's standing but he thinks that Louis smiled. Louis raises his hand and waves at Harry, and Harry just shrugs before turning back the way he came and starts stalking back towards the boarding houses again, trying to look as angry as possible for no reason.

By the time Harry is back at the building, all of his clothes are soaked and clinging to his skin and you can't even tell that his hair is curly. It's a tragedy. Emmerich declares it.

Harry can't say that he doesn't miss England and that he's glad that he chose to come to Austria, not yet at least. He hopes that it'll get better, although the future seems bleak and filled with accidental rudeness to hot guys and a roommate so heterosexual that it hurts and literally not being able to understand a single one of his classes. But, Harry has a saying : when the going gets tough, scream into a pillow and cry. So he does that, and for a little while that night while Emmerich is asleep, everything is a little bit better.

\---

The next morning at breakfast, Emmerich and co are talking loudly in German about something that Harry can't decipher. Harry is in a particularly bad mood, after waking up on the ground, apparently having fallen out of bed in the middle of the night. He'd been stuck walking behind Louis on the way to the main school building for breakfast and he didn't have and clean socks and his bedroom smelled like sweat and feet and cum and to make matters even worse, by the time he'd gotten to the dining hall there weren't any hash browns left. Harry would have preferred walking to school in Hackney and being mugged by a circus clown.

But, it is what it is, and Harry will have to do without hash browns and socks. At least he managed to finish his homework last night, which is a feat in itself, given that all his textbooks are German. It took a lot of Google Translate and a lot of willpower, but he made it to today's first period class - orchestra.

There's really nothing like an inexperienced trumpet player belting off a butchered rendition of Sakura Kiss to start off the day. Honestly though, Harry doesn't think he can ever watch Ouran High School Host Club again after suffering through that. Not that he likes Ouran High School Host Club. That's definitely a girl show. He really most absolutely did not watch all twenty six episodes in one sitting.

The orchestra room of Vienna International is nothing like Harry's ever seen - it's much larger than the one back in Hackney, as well as cleaner. There's a certain lack of obscenities carved into the seats and Harry didn't find a single music stand on which the ass was circled on the Manhasset label. That seemed amazing to him. He almost couldn't believe it.

The students, on the other hand, sounded like the way you might sneeze first thing in the morning while enduring a terrible cold. Harry's not the best musician himself, but he feels like he has the right to say that the class sucked ass.

Halfway through the class, Harry wants to shove his face in his trombone. It helps nothing that Louis and friends are sitting against a tree within view of the classroom windows smoking and Louis seems to always seems to be laughing when Harry looks at him. Harry wants to punch Louis because kids with piercings and cigarettes are supposed to be mean and intimidating, yet Louis is always laughing and is nice and generally looks like a person you'd want to hug and that is just not allowed.

Harry finds himself staring out the window at Louis' distant profile, his mind far from the lesson on tempo markings. He's trying to convince himself that he isn't completely gone for Louis, who he's talked to only once before, but it isn't working very well because Louis' fringe is doing this thing that involves falling in his eyes every few seconds and Harry just really needs to watch Louis push it away every single time. The sunlight is shining through the leaves of the trees, making it look warm outside and Harry is really just restraining himself from punching the window and leaping out into Louis' arms. He decides that that may not be the best plan.

He doesn't realize that he's dayreaming until everyone around him is playing the most godawful version of Jupiter that he's ever heard. Harry blinks in confusion and looks at the girl next to him, who's thick eyebrows are pulled together in apparent confusion and who appears to be producing more spit than sound, saliva dribbling down her chin.

"You're dribbling." Harry says for really no reason other than the fact that it's disgusting. No one can hear him over the sound of somewhere in the middle of Jupiter, which their music teacher is passionately composing from the front of the room. She's a very tall, very thin and very witch-like looking person with pin straight jet black hair and a nose bigger than Canada, in Harry's opinion.

Harry sighs and takes one last glance out the window before trying to figure out where exactly the class is in the song.

Just when he thinks he's found it, Harry lifts his trombone to his lips and plays a note, at the exact moment when everyone else stops playing. Except for a couple of confused flute players, but what does that matter, because everyone is now looking at Harry, who just played the loudest high G possible. Harry slowly lowers his trombone, his face slowly turning fifty shades of oh-my-fucking-God.

The teacher says something in a very angry tone of voice that is directed at Harry and Harry can only stare at her, knowing that all the eyes of his classmates are trained on him and people are snickering and even the girl who was dribbling looks amused and Harry can't even do anything because he doesn't know what the teacher is saying.

"I - I don't speak German." Harry croaks, his voice cracking halfway through. The teacher says some more that Harry can't hear and she seems to be getting louder and angrier by the second and Harry is getting dizzy and lightheaded and his palms are so sweaty that he might drop the instrument in his hands.

Harry swallows, all of his joints feeling sticky as if it'll take a great deal of effort to move and of them. He feels paralyzed. The teacher starts walking over to him as he doesn't say anything else.

She crosses her arms and glares at Harry as if she said something and it waiting for a response, which she probably did but Harry doesn't know that. He feels stiff and sweaty and cold and hot and mortified all at the same time.

"I don't speak German." He says once again, his voice even fainter, but now that the teacher is nearer to him she seems to hear. Her face goes from very angry to considerably concerned in half a second, and Harry reckons he's either extremely pale or extremely red. However, he knows for a fact that he is definitely very dizzy and very light-headed and that his mouth is completely dry.

"Are you okay?" The teacher asks with a heavy accent, leaning forward to look at Harry.

"Um, dunno." Harry swallows, not moving. He still feels stiff and he knows that every eye in the room is on him. He think he might throw up or maybe die.

"Come." The teacher yanks Harry up from his seat by the sleeve of his blazer and drags him to the hallway, Harry still clutching the trombone because in the moment it feels like a lifeline.

"Go to the office and you will need to ask there for the nurse." She says sternly and Harry only hears her voice as an echo in his ears. He feels detached from himself.

The teacher pats him on the should in a way that's probably supposed to be comforting before leaving him in the hallway. Harry takes a few stiff steps before collapsing, trombone falling to the ground next to him.

He stays there a few moments, trying to breath steadily, listening to see if anyone heard him. He stays in his awkward hand-and-knees position for a few minutes, feeling too stiff to move. Harry knows that he has to get up and get to the office but he doesn't bring himself to stand up for at least five minutes. Once he's stood, he slowly pushed the trombone on the ground to the side of the hall with his foot, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Harry is sure that he can hear his joints creaking when he walks and moves his neck. He feels his face with one sweaty hand. His face is hot and not in an attractive way. He must be white as Donald Trump.

Harry can hear his pulse in his ears as he walks into the office, shakily grabbing the front desk as support. He now realizes that he doesn't know what to say. His heart beat quickens again and Harry just wants it to be over.

"Harry Styles?" A secretary asks, getting up from her desk and looking at him. Harry nods curtly, feeling as if the bones in the base of his neck are scraping together to allow him the motion.

"Ah, come here. Are you feeling okay?" The same secretary asks in almost perfect English, motioning for him to walk towards her. Harry finds some strength and hobbles over, blinking rapidly.

"Not particularly." Harry says, his voice rough.

The secretary hums and puts a hand on his back, guiding him to a room. She opens the door to reveal a small room with a crisp white cot, a counter and a fridge.

Harry's knees buckle and he collapses onto the cot, breathing in the cool air let in through a half open window.

"Frau Snidely told me she thought you had a panic attack in class?" The secretary asks, wearing a look of sympathy that she probably used for everyone in Harry's position.

"Yeah. I did, I mean." Harry says, feeling a little less like he's dying. "Could I have some water?"

"Of course. Now, do you often have panic attacks? Or an anxiety disorder?" She asks while opening the fridge and taking out a pitcher of water. She pours it into a plastic cup, which Harry takes graciously, sipping it with stiff fingers before answering.

"I've never been to a doctor about it." Harry shrugs, the water feeling cool and refreshing.

"Do they happen often?" The secretary, or nurse, asks.

"No." Harry lies. If he said yes, he'd be obligated to see a doctor, and he doubts that his scholarship covers unnecessary doctor fees or a shrink.

After a few more questions, Harry is let out, feeling normal again. Although he does think he might die from embarrassment if he sets foot in orchestra again, so he makes a mental note to quit the class later.

\---

"Oi, I'm talking to you."

"I know that. I'm ignoring you." Harry quickens his pace but Louis grabs his sleeve, causing Harry to stumble on the gravel path.

"Slow down for a second, God." Louis sighs when Harry finally stops walking and faces him. The other students walking past them back to the boarding houses eye them with curiosity.

"Don't bring God into this." Harry tries his best to still be rude to Louis despite Louis' marvelous cheekbones.

"You're impossible. I'm just asking if you want help." Louis says, his black backpack hanging off of one shoulder.

"First of all, don't touch me." Harry waits for Louis' hand to drop from his arm. "Second of all," Harry swallows all of his pride and what feels like probably an insect. "Okay."

Louis looks confused for half a second. "Okay? As in you'll let me help you?"

"Yeah. But it's gonna rain so we should probably not stand here." Harry turns around and starts walking again.

"Wait up. So, d'you want to come back to mine? I have a dorm room to myself. I expect you've got a roommate." Louis asks, still pleasant. He sucks the ring on his lip into his mouth, waiting for Harry's response and goddammit Harry never knew he liked lip rings until now.

"My roommate is probably wanking, 'spect you don't want to watch that." Harry rolls his eyes, trying desperately to think of anything but Emmerich and his penis.

"Oh, not really. I'm in the Schlemiel building." Louis directs him towards the building to the right of Harry's in the kind of complex of boarding houses.

Louis keeps talking as he and Harry walk up stairs and down the halls of the building but Harry doesn't really listen because he's to busy internally scolding himself for liking Louis.

"Here we are!" Louis opens the door to reveal his room. There are various parts of his uniform scattered on the ground and it smells lightly of lavender. His duvet is thrown to one side of the bed and there are papers scattered over the desk.

"It's only the second day of term." Is all that Harry can say. Louis chuckles.

"Yeah, I dunno how I've ruined the room this quickly. But 's all right if I just shove the clothes under the bed." Louis laughs and Harry rolls his eyes because he absolutely refuses to amicably laugh at something that Louis says. "You can dump your stuff wherever, by the way." Louis waves his hand blindly in Harry's direction while kicking clothes under his bed.

Harry shrugs his backpack off onto the ground just as Louis turns back to him.

"Okay, good. Erm, I guess we can sit on the bed." Louis sits himself down.

"If you touch me, I will punch you." Harry assures a now very frightened looking Louis.

"I wasn't planning on - I mean I just - I am not a sexual predator." Louis says, sounding very sure of himself.

"Good to know. All I meant is that I don't like people touching me." Harry sits next to Louis on the bed.

"So, English. German - I mean. German." Louis shakes his head, clearly put off by Harry.

"I know English, thanks. But yeah." Harry really does try to ignore how close his and Louis' knees are to each other but it's very difficult. And then Louis leans across Harry to reach over to his desk and his arm is on Harry's shoulder oh fuck.

"So, I have my textbook from my English class so I guess it should work as reverse too. How much German do you know?" Louis asks, receding back into his original position and removing his arm from Harry's shoulder.

"None." Harry says flatly and Louis stares at him for a few seconds, textbook half open.

"Oh." Louis closes the textbook. "Well, no point in that, then. I'll teach you the basics. Do you want to write it down?"

"No, I'll do better if I hear it." Harry says, trying to tear his eyes from Louis' crotch. In a casual way, of course. He has to stop doing this.

"Okay then, do you at least know how to say hello?" Louis seems confused as if he cannot believe Harry's extensive level of stupidity.

"Nope."

"Hallo." Louis says slowly.

"Halo?" Harry repeats, "Like the Beyonce song?"

"No." Louis smiles, " Like hahlo."

And that is the start to an hour of Harry butchering the German language, Louis not showing any frustration or annoyance even once. He giggles and smiles through the whole thing and Harry hates himself for loving it and being attracted to Louis. He doesn't want to like Louis - crushes are just so bothersome and they get in the way of everything. If Harry were simply to admire Louis' monumental physique from afar, perhaps he'd be okay. But Louis just had to go ahead and be a nice person who wanted to talk to Harry as well as being attractive so really Harry's just as good as dead because, as he always says, crushes are just no good.

"Baum. Like the Christmas song, y'know?" Louis forms the world slowly on his lips and Harry looks at him with a confused expression.

"No? I don't know German Christmas songs?" Harry says, phrasing it all like a question.

"I'm from England and my mum used to sing it to me." Louis shrugs, "But maybe it was a regional thing. Where're you from?"

"London." Harry replies, pretty sure that different parts of England don't sing German Christmas songs.

"Me too actually. So never mind about the regional thing." Louis shakes his head and looks back at the list that he's written up for Harry of all the words that they've gone through.

"We're from opposite ends of the city though, so you never know." Harry says for no reason other than the fact that Louis looks embarrassed.

"How do you know that we're from opposite ends of the city?" Louis looks slightly alarmed.

"I assume you're from Chelsea or Kensington or somewhere in that area because obviously you're rich. And I'm from Hackney. So." Harry explains, trying to make the tone of his voice imply that Louis should have inferred the not-so-obvious.

"Hackney sounds like the sound that a cat makes when throwing up." Louis says immediately and then slaps his hand over his mouth. Harry just laughs, and Harry doesn't laugh very often.

"That pretty much sums it up." Harry smiles a real genuine smile.

"Oh God, sorry, I don't know where that came from." Louis groans and the noise sound a little but sexual but Harry can definitely ignore that.

"That's alright. It's a disgusting place. I'm here on a scholarship." Harry wants to take that back as soon as he says it. That was irrelevant and unnecessary. "I'm here on a scholarship" is pretty much bragging, but he hopes that Louis was wondering how someone from a place like Hackney could make it to Vienna International and that Louis assumes Harry wanted to answer the question.

"Oh, nice. So you must be super smart." Louis smirks, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee. "You're progressing pretty fast at German, makes sense."

Harry laughs again and it almost hurts his face because he's usually quite miserable and laughing is a rarity. "Fuck you. I'm awful at this."

And then Louis smiles a really small smile and leans back and the light from the window is shining on half of his face, casting literal shadows from his eyelashes down his cheeks. Harry wants to take an excessive amount of photos of Louis like this.

"Um, so," Harry clears his throat, realizing that he needs to stop himself, "you look older than sixteen." Yes. That was definitely the right thing to say, Harry thinks sarcastically.

"I'm eighteen. I've just failed math way too many times, 's all." Louis laughs. Louis needs to stop laughing or Harry might explode with destructive strength.

"Sounds fun." Harry says flatly, but smiles. Usually he doesn't smile to spare other people's feelings but today is a special case.

"It's lovely. Anyhow, you're going to be the one failing if you don't let me teach you." Louis looks back at the long list of words.

"I'm emotionally hurt, thanks. But yeah, teach me." Harry rolls his eyes.

"How to dougie." Louis blurts out. He looks at Harry. Harry looks back at him. "That was uncalled for." Louis apologizes.

"T-teach me how to dougie." Harry says quietly and soon enough the two of them have broken out into song about why the bitches love them (aye) and why not to fuck with their dougie. It's fun and they're both laughing and red in the face by the end and Harry forgets to be angry at the world while he laughs with Louis, not realizing how close to Louis he's now sitting and how Louis smells faintly like weed masked by "scentless" body spray until he's caught his breath and he's grinning at Louis.

"I, uh, I probably have to go now. Emmerich has no one to show his porn magazines to and I've got other homework, so..." Harry swallows, deciding that spending any more time with Louis tonight would be highly dangerous.

"Take this list, I guess. I can help you some other time, if you'd like." Louis keeps smiling, handing Harry the list of words, written neatly in black ink.

"Thanks." Harry says and slides off the bed, making an effort not to trip over himself. He takes the list and shoves it in his backpack. "Not even walking me to the door? How unromantic." He says without thinking.

"Sorry, darling." Louis laughs and it's a joke but fuck.

"Bye then." Harry forces a laugh to mask his sole deteriorating before letting himself out.

Harry can make one conclusion: he is utterly and completely fucked over, and it's all Louis' fault.


End file.
